Stolen Moments
by RebelliousWaffle
Summary: When you live on borrowed time, you make it count.
1. Push-Ups

**_I AM NOT DEAD! Surprising, right? I am too._**

**_Got_****_ the idea for this partially from Bon Jovi's Livin On A Prayer, which now lives on my Spotify playlist._****_-RebelliousWaffle_**

* * *

Ezra crinkled his nose at the acidic smell of the cleaning fluid. It wafted down the hallway from Sabine's open door, so pungent it was almost touchable.

She had taken her signature blasters apart entirely. The tibanna gas cartridges lay at the top of the workbench. The composite grip was in four different pieces, going from silver to gunmetal grey. A pipe cleaner showed signs of use, likely because of the barrel of the pistols. The trigger assembly was in almost fifteen different bits. The 'shell' of the gun had been removed and taken apart into three painted pieces. Sabine herself was busily working on reassembling the firing system of one of the pistols, brow furrowed in concentration as she worked on a particularly tricky part of the rebuild.

"That time already?"

Sabine might have even jumped at the sound of his voice. Thankfully, she had just finished the reassembly of the firing system- otherwise, she might have remade it simply to shoot Ezra.

"Ezra, next time you see a Mandalorian cleaning her guns, do not interrupt unless you really want to die."

"Guess we're even, after the last time you barged in on me meditating."

"You're still not over that?" Sabine sounded exasperated.

Ezra just shrugged. "In my defense, meditation is a lot easier to mess up."

"Really? Well, you try reassembling one of these, and I'll go meditate," Sabine threatened jokingly. Ezra held his hands up in a pacifying gesture.

"I never said I could do a Mandalorian meditation-"

"Mandalorian meditation? It's called a weapons check, loth-rat."

"Loth-rat? My pride curses you, Wren."

Sabine sat back in her chair and folded her arms. "Ezra, your pride lost the ability to speak from Day One when I had to pull you out of my seat."

"I had just gotten on fifteen minutes ago, dorsal gunner."

Sabine looked as if she was about to contest the point before she shrugged. "Well, if you're done here, I have a gun to make."

_Shouldn't you be doing push-ups, then?_ was Ezra's tounge-in-cheek response. Sabine cast a dark glance at him.

"Is that a challenge, noodle-arms?"

"Oh, you are asking for it," Ezra responded. "I bet I can do more push-ups than you. Two duty shifts I can."

"Alright, then. Let's go. Right now, Bridger!" Sabine called. "Two duty shifts I can do more than you."

"You are so going to lose," Ezra said, getting into plank position. Sabine joined next to him on the floor.

"One," they said together, as they did the first push-up.

"Two."

"Three."

They continued like this until almost a hundred fifty-nine. By this point, both of them were shaking with exertion and their palms were slipping- but neither would quit.

"One-sixty," they said, together, as always.

"One-sixty-one."

"One-sixty-two."

"One-sixty-three."

"One-sixty-fourrrrrrr!"

On what would've been one-sixty-four, Sabine's palm slipped, and she crashed into Ezra's arm, who went tumbling with her. Ezra landed facedown on top of Sabine, much to the confusion of Kanan, who had just entered the room.

"Uh… do you two need a moment?" he asked, smirking.

Sabine and Ezra extricated themselves from each other and knelt back, before beginning to laugh heartily- so much so, when Hera asked what was wrong, Kanan simply said, "The kids are laughing way more than is healthy for them."

"So? Force knows they need it. We all do."

"Really? That's your view on this, Hera?"

Hera nodded, gently.

"So… have you ever heard the one about the bantha and the mynock?"


	2. It's Just Theirs

_Just For Them_

* * *

**_Hello again! Happy May the Fourth!_**

**_Hope coronacation hasn't been too hard on y'all. I've been more worried with school, so that's why even with all this free time I'm still slow to update._**

* * *

Blue-white-black-white-black-blue-blue.

Hyperspace was like a picture that couldn't decide on a final shape. Like it was constantly evolving and searching for a new form. If she ever tried to paint it, she'd go mad after about five brush strokes. It wasn't like Krownest's snowy forests, or Lothal's plains of tall grass, or even someone passing through a doorway. With those, there was usually a baseline, a standard series of motions you could discern after a few minutes watching and sketch from memory. But with hyperspace, it was all unique. All chaotic. No pattern, no form- just shifting colors.

It was some combination between calming and enraging, currently.

"I just don't know how to _say_ it."

"Well, repeat after me. I-"

"Very funny, Hera. I mean, like..."

"I know what you mean."

The two women sat in the cockpit of the _Ghost**, **_observing the hyperlane outside. Sabine was sitting cross-legged in the copilot's seat. Hera was next to her in the pilot's seat, one leg on top of the other, with a mug of caf in hand.

"I don't think there's any one way to do it," Hera said, slowly. "It's a... spur-of-the-moment thing."

"That doesn't help."

"I'm not sure I can help, Sabine. I'm not you." Hera's tone was patient to an extreme.

"I know that," Sabine snapped. "But anything is better than nothing."

_Fek, when did I turn so snappy?_

Hera noticed it too. "Well, I think it's best to just get it out there, myself."

* * *

"Ezra?"

He was sitting in the dorsal gunner's seat, again. At this point, as usual would probably be applicable.

"Yeah?"

_It's just Ezra. You know Ezra._

"I... um... I think..."

_Fek, why is this so hard?_

"I..."

"You're madly in love with me and want to confess?"

Sabine did a double take. _He..._ _the little loth-rat!_

"Y-you knew?!" she stammered out.

"Wait, actually? That's... that's what you were going to say?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah. It was."

Ezra's heart must have melted. "Sabine..."

"I... I know it's silly." She hung her head. "I'll go now, I guess."

A hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Sabine, wait. I..."

Something insane welled up inside her. "Just kiss me already."

So he did. It was tentative. It was too slow and too fast. It was...

It was theirs.


End file.
